I don’t think I realized until today just how… unpretty my pain has made me feel. For the last few weeks, I’ve been lamenting about how my bionic shoes don’t really go with the whole… wearing dresses thing.
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Not that they’re not cute.. for sneakers. It’s just that they’re loaded with tech (roll-bar technology, extra balance assistance, etc.etc…) that helps to keep me stable when my pain and other neuropic issues would otherwise have me falling over.
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But they’re sneakers. Grey and white with purple and some pinkish accents. I can’t exactly wear them with a cocktail dress.
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Since it’s been so cold until lately it hasn’t really been something I thought about anyway. My focus has been on staying warm. And because of that I don’t think I really noticed how unpretty my pain has made me feel.
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For me prettiness was a revolution. And that revolution came in the form of a dress. First one- and then another, and another, and another. Until ¼ of my closet was dresses lined up one after another. It was a rebellion against 20 years of self-hatred and body violence that manifested in disordered eating and thought and self-injury. It was casting off the mantle of “monster” that I adopted after years of abuse. It was accepting that I had the right to be VISIBLE in the world. It was accepting that I had the right to feel and be and be seen as BEAUTIFUL. Even though the conventional beauty standards would have me believe otherwise.
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And for me- a dress was the ultimate symbol of all of that. It was the thing I had denied myself for 20 long years.
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So when I started wearing dresses it was more than a victory- it was something that made me re-evaluate even the way I identified myself within my sexuality. The way I identified my sexual presentation. I started, for the first time… to embrace the idea of being Femme. Hard femme, sure, but Femme. It stopped being such a foreign concept to me. It started to be familiar, and comfortable, and honest. And beautiful.
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The pain that comes with neuropathy though, has made me feel so unpretty. And it wasn’t really until today that I even realized how much. It’s more than just the dress wearing although that’s part of it. There’s an accessibility to the way I reach that feeling of prettiness. For me- as silly as it may seem to some- that :needs: a dress. Maybe someday I’ll be beyond that (and sometimes I do have moments). But for me, I need that flowing skirt, the long lines, the ethereal feel of it around my body.
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But with pain, especially constant pain, there comes a certain… curmudgeon-ness. Not because I’m cranky, or hopeless, or mad at the world (although I have those moments too)… but because I’m just so limited. Because my energy is limited. Because smiling and putting on a happy face takes energy that has to be saved and used elsewhere. A life-long history of self-hatred means that exuding “prettiness” (even on my own terms) takes energy… and living in constant pain means choosing with excruciating precision how that energy is used.
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I don’t feel pretty most of the time. I feel tired. I feel frustrated. I feel worn down. I feel heavy. And I’m sure that to the world around me, I look it. This week I’m sensing that more and more. I mentioned last night about how more and more I’m being offered assistance by strangers. Having doors held open. Being asked if I need help. Being asked if I’m ok. The world has noticed that I am not ok.
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And maybe that’s part of what me take notice too. I’m not passing anymore. So today when I got up and suddenly remembered that I have a dress that actually sort of matches those chunky bionic sneakers I dove for it. I pulled it from its drawer, shook it out, and put it on and the transformation was almost magical.
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It was like waking up again. And I realized just how unpretty I’ve really been feeling. Not unattractive, mind. As you can see by my fantastic fatspo coloring book page… I am plenty fabulous. Bald, fat, dapper, whatever. But PRETTY. I missed feeling pretty. I missed the ethereal, featherweight feeling of prettiness. And it’s the chronic, neverending pain that takes that from me. My pain is heavy and draining. It holds me down. I won’t say it makes me feel ugly- that’s not accurate. But it definitely makes me feel unpretty.
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When I was doing radiation and chemo, and then chemo again- I still maintained the lightness that was “pretty.” I was able to still wear my dresses. In fact I mostly wore dresses during those days. It was summer (for one thing), and sundresses/maxi dresses during radiation days made it easy to get in and out of hospital gowns for treatment. For chemo days, it meant easy access to my port and the least amount of discomfort during 6 hour days in a chair receiving chemo through iv. They were light and airy.
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It also meant that even as my body changed shape and size, as the hair on my head fell out, as my eyelashes and eyebrows disappeared… I still got up each day and stepped to my closet and chose something light and lovely and long and feminine. And I could still connect myself with the lightness that was “pretty.”
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But my pain doesn’t allow for pretty. At least, it hasn’t. It’s something I will probably struggle with for awhile. Finding a “cute” cane helps. It didn’t match my outfit today, but at least it was cute in its own right. And I may just have to accept that my shoes are not going to match all my dresses. It’s something I will have to just… get over.
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Because I miss the lightness of feeling pretty. It matters to me. That sensation. The way it made me feel- it was healthy. It was healing. The connection to that part of me- really? It helped me survive. And I think it’s important that I find a way to reconnect to that.
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So, over spring break… I’m pulling out my dresses… at least the long ones. I’ll shake them out. I’ll wash them. I’ll hang them back up in the closet. And I’ll start wearing them. People stare at me anyway. They stare at my cane and they wonder. What do I care if they judge that my shoes don’t match? Give them one more thing to wonder about. What matters is how I feel. And in a dress… in a dress I feel light, and lovely… I feel pretty.
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I need to reclaim the lightness that came from feeling “pretty.” I want to bring that lightness back. I deserve that.
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